468 JOURNEY TO CENTRAL AFRICA.

over the Nile, and at sunset again saw the palms — but this time the renowned palms of Dar Sukkot, for we had crossed the border of Dar El-Mahass. They lined the river in a thick grove of stems, with crowns of leafy luxuriance. The village of Noolwee, scattered for half a mile in their shade, was better built than any I saw in Dongola. Many of the houses were inclosed in square courts, and had a second story, the massive mud walls sloping towards each other like a truncated pyramid. Achmet, Ali and myself bought about fifty piastres worth of the celebrated dates of Sukkot. They were the largest and best flavored I ever saw, and are said to preserve their quality for years. They are sold at a piastre for an earthen measure containing about two hundred. When gathered, they are first slightly dried in the large magazines, and then buried in the earth. The population of Sukkot subsists apparently on the profits of selling them, for little else is cultivated along the river. Even here, nevertheless, where the people are better able to bear the grinding rule of Egypt, one meets with deserted fields and ruined dwellings. The King of El-Mahass informed me, when in Khartoum, that his people were obliged to pay six hundred piastres (thirty dollars) tax on each water-mill, being just double the lawful amount, (which, alone, is very oppressive), and that his country was fast becoming depopulated, in consequence.

On the following clay I passed the large island of Sai. The country here is more open and the Nile has a less vexed course.

The mountains, especially the lofty blue mass of Djebel Abyr, have not the forced and violent forms common to the porphyry formation. Their outlines are long, sloping, and with that slight but exquisite undulation which so charmed me in the